


Lavender and Thistle

by sailorgreywolf



Series: Hetalia Rare Pair Week 2020 [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:08:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24841321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sailorgreywolf/pseuds/sailorgreywolf
Relationships: France/Scotland (Hetalia)
Series: Hetalia Rare Pair Week 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1796935
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	Lavender and Thistle

Scotland was pacing nervously as he waited in the solar in France’s private manor in Paris, wondering if this had been a good idea. He had been thinking about it during the whole long trip from Edinburgh.

He had known France for years, but he still questioned how long he could hold the man’s attention. He thought that they were as different as two people could be. France was like the sun, and Scotland was far more used to rain.

But, he was more in love than he cared to admit. After so long in the gloom, the sun was blinding indeed, and none was more brilliant than France. His younger brother may not see it, but Scotland knew it. He had known it since the moment they had met years ago. It had never been a question if he found France alluring; it had been obvious to him from the first beat his heart skipped.

It was not hard to know that he felt affection for France, but it was not as clear to him if France’s affection would last. This was the first time he had ever visited, and he felt so out of place here, among the colorful tapestries and the soft furniture. It was different when France would visit him, and be a soft exception to the otherwise austere surroundings.

He felt distinctly like he was out of place among all this finery. France’s world was very different to him, and he wasn’t sure if he could even touch the tapestries. He felt like he might ruin them if he laid hands on them.

It had not been long since a chamberlain left to find France, but it felt like it had been an eternity. It was not easy to forget that he did not belong in this world, not when he could see the light of the French summer streaming in through the windows illuminating a room full of finery as beautiful as France himself.

Scotland nervously shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He would have allowed himself to fidget with his hands, but there was a bouquet of thistles in his hand.

It was customary to bring something to meet with the subject of one’s affection, and in his mind flowers from his home had been the best idea. They were a unique symbol of him, and he hoped that France would find them beautiful.

But, as he looked around they also felt too sharp for these surroundings. They had a harshness of home, something that reminded him of the highlands. The flowers were part of himself, and they were ill-matched for this environment as he was.

The door opened, and he felt his heart start to pound. He knew that his naturally pale and ruddy complexion would show his nervousness as blush, and in the moment he wished that he could hide it better. France emerged from behind the heavy, elaborately carved door.

As soon as Scotland met his gaze, a warm smile appeared on the blonde’s face. It did nothing to help Scotland’s blush. His ears were beginning to feel hot, and he could only guess that they were bright red. He guessed that he was red from his neck to the tips of his hair.

France crossed the room and smoothly embraced him. The blonde planted two kisses swiftly on his blushing cheeks. Then France said, with the affection as sweet as wine, “I have missed you, mon cher.”

Scotland knew he was smiling back as he said back, “Did you really?”

He wanted to believe it, but he found it hard to believe that France couldn’t have found a million bonny pursuits to keep himself busy. France’s face looked slightly reproachful as he said, “Of course I did. I count the days when we don’t see each other.”

He said it as smoothly and sweet as a troubadour, but the slight hurt on his face was sincere. He looked like he was pained by the accusation that he would so easily forget his lover.

Scotland raised his free hand and put it to France’s cheek. He felt the other man lean in, like he had been waiting for that touch. He said, his voice coming out surprisingly soft, “I missed you too, Francois.”

The blonde looked up at him through his blonde eyelashes, and said coyly, “Your little brother hasn’t convinced you that I am a bully yet?”

The comment, so intentionally flirtatious, made. Scotland chuckle. He knew that England had some disagreements with France, but he hadn’t payed much mind to it. Now that England was a young man he seemed to be getting more willing to fight with others. There was something about an English claim to the French throne, but he didn’t listen enough to know more.

He answered the question, “Not at all. I don’t listen to him, especially not about you.”

Then he remembered the flowers still firmly in his hand, stuck precariously between them. If France had leaned even a little more forward, he would have crushed them between their bodies.

Scotland said, transitioning somewhat gracelessly, “In fact, I brought you flowers.”

France took a step back to look down at the flowers in his hand, and then took them in his own hand. Scotland added, “I know they are not really flowers. Not in the traditional sense, I suppose. They’re thistles.”

He forced himself to trail off as he realized that he was rambling. It should not be something that he had to justify, but he felt like he owed France the explanation of why they were not as soft as most flowers.

France replied, still looking down at the flowers, “They’re lovely.” He then looked up and said, in response to the look on Scotland’s face, “Is something wrong?”

Scotland waited for a moment, and tried to think of what to say. He wasn’t sure if he could be honest about his feelings quite yet. Even with the years of friendship that had turned to romance, it was hard to voice his concerns.

After a moment of silence, he finally answered, “I am not sure if they fit in this room.”  
France seemed to catch his tone, and he looked like he was thinking about it. Then he said, looking around, “No, they do. I know exactly where they should go.“

He took Scotland’s hand in his own, and gently led him across the room to one of the small tables. The touch of their hands was enough to make Scotland’s heart race.

There was a vase on it full of blooming purple flowers. France planted a soft kiss on Scotland’s cheek and said, “This will work perfectly. Your thistles with my lavender. Don’t you think so?”

He placed the thistles right in the middle of the other flowers. Scotland wondered if France was making an extra effort to make him feel better about the flowers. The kiss had been sweet and he was not about to complain about it. But, he still had the same doubts nagging at his mind.

It took a moment for him to realize that France was still looking at him with concern. The blonde said, with the careful tone of someone worried, “Is something still the matter?”

Scotland felt like he couldn’t hold back what was bothering him. It would be cruel to hold back and make France wonder, and it was unusual for him to bite his tongue.

He pulled in a breath through his nose, and then answered, “I was just thinking about us, and how well we fit together.”

He saw the smile fall from the blonde’s face and felt a twinge in his heart. He didn’t mean to hurt him, even if it was unavoidable with what he was saying. He quickly clarified, “I know I am so rough, and harsh. Your world is very different from mine.”

France put his hands on his face and said, with a relieved sigh, "I thought you were going to say that I am too soft and effeminate.”

Scotland shook his head swiftly and said, “No, I love you the way you are.”

It was an honest answer. He would never think to change France. His charm lay in his unique effervescence, and there was no reason to change that.

He felt both of France’s palms press against his face as the blonde said, “So, why would I feel any differently about you? Why would I want to change you?”

That brought a smile to his face as the nervousness melted away. France smiled again and said, “We’re like the thistle and the lavender, mon cher. We may be different, but our colors are beautiful together.”

Scotland reached down and tucked a piece of the man’s blonde hair behind his ear, and said, “I love you.”  
France replied, and leaned forward, “I love you too.”

Then he joined their lips. Scotland felt his face burning, but the feeling was pleasant. He pulled France flush against him, and kissed him even more deeply.

When France pulled away, he said, with a knowing smile, “We’ll have time for that later. Let me show you my home.”


End file.
